The SEAL's Special Mission

by Rogenna Brewer

She braced her hands on the couch.

  “Come here.” Before she could push herself up, he had a hand tangled in her hair and was pulling her back down. He saw the confusion on her face as he felt for the knot at the back of her head and then found it.

  She winced and whimpered as he massaged around the lump. The tightness around her mouth eased. “Don’t do that,” she protested.

  He didn’t stop. “Why not?”

  “Because it feels good.”

  But she didn’t pull away and he kept on making her feel good.

  “It’s okay, Mal.” He pulled her head down to rest on his chest. “Relax. You doctored me. Let me doctor you.” He continued murmuring soothing words as he massaged her scalp. “Rest is the best medicine. We both need to quit fighting and get some.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  MAL WOKE UP the next morning with her face in a puddle of drool and staring at a black ski mask. She jerked her head up from Nash’s bare chest. The pint-size intruder stared back at her. “Ben, what are you doing?”

  He lifted the mask. “Shhh, I’m not Ben. I’m a ninja.” And with that he pulled the mask back down again and tiptoed his way to the kitchen.

  Mal wiped the drool from her mouth. Swiped at the puddle on Nash’s chest but decided she was better off letting sleeping dogs lie and pushed to her feet from where she’d fallen asleep sitting on the floor.

  Her hair had fallen free from its band. She found the colorful band in the carpet at her feet. Despite the chill, heat infused her cheeks. The last thing she remembered was Nash massaging her scalp and then feeling completely relaxed. Even her headache was gone.

  Mal rolled her neck, checking for any residual pain. But the only residual anything she felt was the tingle to her scalp as she remembered Nash entangling his hand in her hair. When he’d pulled her down by the hair, she actually thought he was going to kiss her. A rough, demanding kiss full of passion.

  And she hadn’t done anything to resist.

  His lips had been parted and he’d had that unmistakable dreamy-eyed look about him. But while his eyes were glazed with fever and not lust, she’d been anticipating something else—a forbidden kiss. And why was that?

  Maybe because she’d been so happy to see him up and about that she didn’t even care that he was surly with her. And her outing last night hadn’t gone exactly as planned. She’d waited for what seemed like hours for the sheriff’s SUV to leave and was beginning to think the sheriff actually lived there by the time the young female sheriff did leave. And then Mal had distinctly heard, “Good night, Grandpa.”

  Mal had weighed the options of exposing herself.

  There was either help right in front of her—or trouble.

  In the end she’d had second thoughts about stealing the drugs. But desperate times called for desperate measures. And she’d been very careful to take only what Nash might need, and only took bottles from the back of the cabinet. In retrospect she should have taken only the pills and left the bottles.

  Talk about your dumb criminal. Just because she’d known how to pick a lock from the Academy didn’t mean she knew what she was doing when it came to breaking and entering.

  She glanced at Nash passed out on the couch. That wasn’t her drool on his chest. From the look of his glistening muscles, he’d cycled through chills and fever to sweat again. But this time he’d regained his color. That was a good sign.

  The fact that she hadn’t been sprawled out in her own drool, but in his sweat, should somehow be a lot more disturbing than it was. She gathered the trash from the coffee table.

  She felt much more normal as she made her way to the small kitchen. She felt rested, relaxed—despite sleeping while sitting up. It was Sunday. Nash had abducted them on Friday. They’d made it through two nights.

  She appeared to have all her faculties about her. And no one was knocking down the door. The excess adrenaline she’d been running on had finally left her body and she no longer felt as if she were wound tight enough to explode.

  “Huh-uh.” She took the bag of Cheetos from Ben. “Ninjas do not eat junk. We’re having a normal breakfast today. Remove your mask at the table please.”

  He pushed the mask to the top of his head. She whisked it off the rest of the way and set it beside him on the kitchen table. Though she and Ben had unloaded supplies from the Tahoe to the pantry yesterday, she hadn’t inventoried them at the time but knew she’d seen cereal and milk.

  Mal poured two bowls of Honey Nut Cheerios and then opened a box of milk.

  “I don’t like milk from a box,” Ben said as she poured from the unfamiliar carton into his bowl.

  “You haven’t even tried it.” She added milk to her own bowl, but Ben didn’t budge. “Nash must like milk from a box. He bought it.”

  More than likely he’d bought it for the shelf life and the fact that it didn’t need refrigeration until after it was opened. But it was enough motivation to get Ben eating his breakfast.

  After breakfast, she went out and checked on the generator, which had shut itself off during the night—which was good since she’d fallen asleep before doing so. It looked as though the homeowner had it running on a timer. The booklet had said they’d get about sixteen hours for every five gallons with all the lights on and everything in the house running. She didn’t know how much fuel they’d started out with, only that they had twenty gallons left, which meant they had to conserve.

  They barely had enough hot water for a shower, so she used the hall bathroom with its intact shower curtain and cleaned up as quickly as possible. Then she changed into clean underwear and jeans along with her Eagle T-shirt. She found a men’s flannel shirt in the master bedroom’s closet and put that on over her T-shirt.

  She towel-dried her hair, but didn’t bother with the blow-dryer that she’d found in one of the bathrooms. Not only would it be a waste of energy, but it would fry her naturally curly hair. And with no straight iron on hand, she had to be satisfied with simply finger-combing product through her hair and hoping that it wouldn’t frizz as it dried. Not that grooming was her main priority right now anyway.

  She bound downstairs only to slow down about halfway there.

  Nash stood in the middle of the living room with the afghan wrapped around his waist. He turned and caught her staring at him.

  And in turn stared back at her. “I was wondering where all those curls had gone.”

  “Well, they’re back. And wet.”

  “Yeah, so are my jeans. And they’re the only ones I’ve got.” He picked them up from beside the fireplace.

  “I could crank up the generator and toss them in the dryer,” she offered.

  “I’ll live.”

  Well, he certainly looked better than yesterday. If not a little worse for wear.

  “There might be something upstairs in one of the drawers that you could wear.” She lighted down the rest of the stairs. Picking up the Gas and Go bag from the bench beneath the stairs, she tossed it to him. “At least you’ll have a dry T-shirt.”

  * * *

  NASH FOUND A pair of men’s jeans in a dresser drawer. He could use a belt, but it was just as well the jeans hung low on his hips and away from his bandaged wound. He tucked the Glock to his back, then downed a couple of over-the-counter pain relievers and another horse pill.

  Ben wore a ski mask and peered up at him from the stair rails as Nash headed back downstairs. “A little young for a life of crime, there, Ben.”

  He lifted the ski mask. “I’m a ninja.” Then he pulled it back down and raced past him up the stairs.

  Mal came in through the front door, kicking the snow off her sneakers and carrying a load of firewood. “Here, let me help,” he offered.

  She handed him one log and continued past him to the fireplace, where she stacked the rest. “Where’s the b
urn phone?”

  Nash threw his log on the fire. “I tossed it in your gym bag.” He’d carried her gym bag from the car to the house the night they arrived.

  “It’s not in there.” Mal got a strange look on her face and walked over to the foot of the stairs. “Ben, do you have the phone?”

  He poked his head around the corner at the top of the stairs. “Maybe.”

  “Bring it to me please.”

  Ben disappeared back around the corner. Nash envisioned having to relocate them until Ben appeared with the phone still in the package and handed it to Mal. “You said you’d get me a new phone.”

  “And I will,” she promised. “But this is not the one.”

  “I’ll take that.” Nash relieved her of the phone. He was surprised she didn’t put up a fuss. Clearly the dynamics had changed since their arrival.

  Ben made his way down the rest of the stairs. He’d changed shirt since their first encounter that morning. He was now wearing the same gray Eagle, Colorado, T-shirt they all wore. “Well, isn’t this the family photo op?” Nash said.

  Mal caught on to his comment and looked a little misty-eyed as she rushed from the room. “Excuse me.”

  Nash followed her into the kitchen under the pretense of grabbing a protein bar. “Did I say something wrong, Mal?” he asked, half expecting her to call him an insensitive jerk.

  “No.” She shook her head and turned to face him with arms crossed. “I just need to know your plan.”

  “The plan is to lie low here until the trial.” He peeled back the wrapper on his breakfast. “I assume you’re okay with that.”

  “Have you been undercover in the Middle East this whole time?”

  Here came the questions. “For the most part.”

  “And now the members of this terrorist cell know your real name?”

  He nodded.

  “And they know about Ben?” she asked.

  He held her gaze, and there were no words necessary.

  “What about your mom? Does she know you’re alive?”

  “No, but if all goes well she should be well on her way to visiting family in Israel right now.” He hoped. He tore off a bite of the protein bar. It had been a hard choice being so close and not going there to ensure his mom’s safety himself—but one he’d thought any parent would understand. His first responsibility was to Ben.

  He noticed Mal hadn’t asked about herself. She was in just as much danger as Ben or his mom, no matter how tenuous their connection.

  “We’re safe here for the time being,” he said, wanting to reassure her. “Just set aside any plans you have to turn me over early. I’m going in on my own terms.”

  “What happens after the trial?”

  “I think you know. You and Ben will enter the witness protection program.” Otherwise known as the Witness Security Program, WitSec. As a protected witness, he was also entitled to protection for his family.

  “I’m never going to see my dad again?”

  It was a rhetorical question and he didn’t bother answering. It would be hard, but not impossible, for her and Ben to leave loved ones behind. That’s why their relationship with his own mother only added another wrinkle. It was unlikely she’d be entering the program with Mal and Ben, either. “I was sorry to hear about your mom, Mal.”

  “She overdosed. For a long time I blamed you. I’ve blamed you for a lot of things, Nash.”

  “Then I’ll just have to hope you’re a lot closer to forgiving me than you were seven years ago.”

  “You really found Cara’s killer?” There was that hint of disbelief in her voice that told him she still had not separated him from her sister’s murderer.

  “I found the man who ordered the hit and discovered his motive. Conspiracy to commit murder is just one count among his many other crimes. His ties to terrorism will mean he never sees daylight again.” Nash had uncovered enough garbage to see that Mullah Kahn never dug himself out of prison.

  “And what about you?” she asked.

  “You and Ben will be safe. I’ll see to it,” he said, deliberately ignoring Mal’s last question.

  * * *

  IT TOOK MAL three more days to come to terms with the fact that they had no recourse except to enter the Witness Security Program. Though she’d noticed Nash had not included himself in that little scenario.

  There’d be no going back to their old life after this.

  The three of them had developed a routine of sorts revolving around breakfast, lunch and dinner.

  She and Ben would tackle homework between breakfast and lunch while Nash took one of the hunting rifles and went for a walk. But she knew he wasn’t hunting, because they had plenty to eat and he never returned with any small game.

  In any case, there was also the issue of the different hunting seasons and licenses required for each. And Nash was not going to draw attention to himself by illegally catching game.

  After lunch he’d split logs and haul wood while she and Ben got their outdoor exercise. It hadn’t snowed since Sunday night and it was still quite nice out during their midday breaks.

  She and Ben had just finished their half-mile hike when Ben hauled out the little pedal cart they’d found in the shed. Mal took the opportunity to sit down on the front stoop, while Nash stood off to the side splitting logs. He made it look easy. Place a log end up on the tree stump and then drop the ax, splitting the log in a single swing.

  But she winced every time he hauled back and dropped that ax. Even though he brought it down single-handed, that couldn’t feel good on his injured side.

  “Mind if I give it a try?” She pushed herself up from the stoop.

  He removed his work gloves and waited for her to put them on and then extended the ax and even placed the first log for her.

  She tested the weight of the ax in her hand. While it wasn’t that heavy, there was no way she was going to swing it single-handedly. She brought it overhead two-handed.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa—” Nash stopped her from taking a swing. “You’re going to cut yourself in two on the follow-through if you hold it like that.”

  She repositioned the ax.

  “Not so high.”

  She brought it down and took her first swing. The ax embedded itself in the log. She tried to pull it out but couldn’t. Nash used his boot to brace the log against the ground and then removed the ax.

  He handed it back and replaced the log on the stump again. “Put your shoulder into it.”

  She did and wound up with an uneven split. But a split nonetheless.

  She split three more logs on the second swing without his help before she got the mechanics of it down and split a log on a single swing. Ben even stopped to watch. By the time she’d split a dozen logs, she was ready to turn the chore back over to Nash and she had a new appreciation for central heating.

  In keeping with their daily routine, in the late afternoon, just before sundown, Nash would start up the generator for a couple of hours and the three of them would crowd into the kitchen. One of them would start a load of laundry while the other got to work on dinner. Ben would try and be helpful to the best of his ability. Tonight Nash was making chicken chili from canned ingredients while Ben helped her measure out laundry detergent.

  After dinner, she tried to keep Ben busy in an activity with her, but he preferred to shadow Nash in his ninja mask. But always from a distance.

  Every morning and every evening, Nash rolled up her yoga mat and tucked it into the wicker basket next to the fireplace. They both used it. Mallory didn’t mind that he used her yoga mat twice a day as much as she minded the prejudice she felt when he pointed that mat northeast for what he called morning and evening meditation.

  Whatever he was doing, it wasn’t downward-facing dog and it made her uncomfortable.
Uncomfortable because he’d never again be the boy who sat at their Easter table and shocked the rest of the Ward family by politely refusing ham, or the man who’d argued with her sister over circumcision and baptism before Ben was even born.

  As a result, Ben was both circumcised in the Jewish faith according to Nash’s wishes and later, when Mallory was awarded custody, baptized in the Catholic faith in accordance with her sister’s wishes. Which was probably exactly how things would have played out had Cara lived. Regardless of whether or not Nash and Cara had gotten back together.

  Of course they would have gotten back together.

  Since they hadn’t even been separated a week before Cara was murdered, it was hard to think of them as anything but together.

  If Nash was embracing a new religion or culture, she wanted to believe she was more open-minded than to judge him for it—she wanted to believe she was more open-minded period.

  She kept hearing Stan’s voice. “It’s not unheard of for these guys to turn rogue.”

  Nash wasn’t rogue.

  After dinner Nash sat at the table and read from a stack of old newspapers the homeowner had accumulated and left stacked by the fireplace. She didn’t know if he was reading them out of boredom or to catch up on months’ or even years’ worth of news he’d missed. She’d finished several romance novels herself. Sometimes she’d wake up in the morning and find the newspaper open to a finished or half-finished crossword puzzle. So she knew he stayed awake most nights while she and Ben slept.

  When he did sleep, it was in short naps during the day and only while she was up.

  They kept their firearms on them at all times and the key on top of the gun cabinet in easy reach of the adults. Most mornings he disappeared for hours on end with a rifle and binoculars.

  She glanced over and saw Ben on the chair next to Nash holding up his arm next to his father’s. He seemed to be comparing skin tones, which were a similar tan. Then Ben looked at her pale skin and back again to his father’s.

  “Can I be excused?” Ben asked.

  Mal nodded.

  “Not so fast.” Nash tilted his head toward the sink. “Your plate.”